Stuck
by TheFutilitarian
Summary: Part of the nameless fluff-verse where Adjustements and True Love find their home. Miranda/Andy, technically pre-slash but you can see it's there. The prequel/first vignette that kicks off this verse.


"Uh, all the flights are grounded, Miranda."

Having dropped this bombshell she resists the urge to run or at the very least shut her eyes to block out the impending vision of doom.

The lips tighten imperceptibly even as the glasses are slowly lowered. The look of thorough disdain leaves no doubt that its owner holds Andy personally responsible. "And?"

"Well, and so we're booked into the Hilton on --"

"No."

Andy stammers her bewilderment. "N-no?"

"Yes, Andrea. NO. Two letters – 'n' and 'o'. Which one are you struggling with?"

"Well, neither but --"

"Good. Then why are you still here?"

Dazed, Andy shakes her head. "W-what exactly do --"

"Fix it. I want you to fix it, Andrea. And then I want you to get me a copy of the Oxford English Dictionary."

The request is bizarre enough to override the common sense screaming that asking questions right now is Andy's worst idea ever. "W-why?"

The glasses are carelessly flung to the side. Enunciating clearly as if speaking to a toddler, Miranda drawls, "So that I can check that the official definition of the word 'assistant' does still contain the verb 'assist'."

The putdown is accompanied by a pointed up and down look as if the meaning behind the words isn't already clear enough. Even though she's been treated to both almost every day for the last twelve months, each continues to sting, Andy scrupulously resisting the urge to examine why.

Stifling an immeasurably childish retort she clarifies through gritted teeth, "Miranda, no-one is flying today. There is a cloud of volcanic ash over most of the country, actually, over most of Europe. We're stuck here along with everyone else."

Miranda releases a long suffering sigh. "Nonsense, Andrea. I am quite certain if you applied the same amount of effort to this situation as you did to the consumption of the steak & ale pie you devoured last night like it was your very own Last Supper, we would already be mid-flight."

A double whammy again. Terrific. Miranda is on fine form today.

"Miranda, I really don't think --"

Shit. Way to set up a home run.

Spinning on the blasted heels she'd started longing to take off three painful hours ago, she hurries off without finishing just as she sees Miranda open her mouth.

An hour later she is back, staggering under the weight of printed paperwork. "Okay, so I've booked a car to take us to Belfast, then we'll get a ferry across to Southampton. They think the airports there might re-open --"

"No."

"N-no?"

_Of course not, that would be too easy._

"The word is only one syllable in length, Andrea, and yet the tumbleweeds going through your head seem unable to gather even that much simplistic content in their stride. Had they had you for a specimen, perhaps the medical profession might have revised its opinion that fresh air is good for an individual because quite clearly the rolling hills of Ireland have been extremely harmful to your mental health."

Andy does shut her eyes this time, slowly counts to ten, silently wonders how much dentistry work her HMO really covers and whether she'd qualify for legal aid. One of these days she is certain she'll grind her teeth into a pulp or strangle Miranda with her bare hands. Right now she feels she can easily achieve both at once.

Eyes opening, she stares down Miranda. "Then what would you like me to do?" The reply's just barely the right side of a retort.

Naturally, Miranda knows.

The picture of calm, she picks up her reading glasses before slipping them onto her nose. "There's no need for hysterics, Andrea. I believe I have a perfectly adequate reservation at the Hilton tonight. I'm not quite sure why you're making such a fuss."

Slamming herself into the nearest available seat, Andy tosses the useless confirmations aside and take out her rage on the Sidekick keypad, furiously bashing as far as 'Ireland mansl' into Google search before Miranda adds sweetly now looming over her shoulder, "Still seven to ten years minimum, Andrea. Oh and manslaughter? Good luck pleading down to that."

Andy's strangled groan of "Arrgghh" is accompanied by her banging her head against the wall of the fancy airport lounge they're stuck in. The funny thing is – she doesn't know the target of her anger. It should be Miranda and yet without even looking (pointless anyway because it won't show on her face), she knows Miranda's smiling on the inside. For just a moment, she's forgotten about the mess at Runway, the girls she'll disappoint by missing their birthday, the parties she'll be unable to attend. Andy can avoid a lot of things, this job leaves little time for introspection, but she can't suppress the frisson of pleasure that curls through her at the thought that for just a moment, she – Andy Sachs – has made Miranda Priestly happy.

"I hope you realise any damage is coming out of your pay and given how much you earn, well let's just say you were down before you even started." The words are brusque to everyone around them but Andy has spent too long around Miranda not to be able to discern every shade of tone in her voice. Underneath the slur, there is a question, hidden even deeper than that, there's concern. This is about as close as Miranda Priestly will ever get to checking that everything's alright.

Simultaneously, Andy stops and sighs. Just like the pain in her head that she can no longer ignore, the truth of things also refuses to go away. The fact is Miranda doesn't have enough. For a start, not enough slurs, insults and petty digs to drive Andy away. But mostly, what's really lacking is an ample amount of genuine smiles and there's nothing that Andy won't do to give her more of those, even if that means enduring --

"Is the Starbucks going to sprout legs and drive us to the hotel, Andrea?"

Laughing at the impeccable timing, Andy receives a bewildered, if somewhat half-hearted, glare in return. "That was your best one yet, Miranda."

"Yes, well, some of us choose to spend our days striving for perfection."

_Yes, _Andy realises_, some of us really do._


End file.
